Not ready to let go of that bond

Today is the second day that I've hauled my breast pump downtown to work, only to pick it up and take it home unused. I should be thrilled. I've always said that "I hate pumping as much as I love breastfeeding." I hate that depressed feeling that immediately washes over me as the machine grabs my nipples and simultaneously yanks on them every half a second for 20 minutes. I hate having to interrupt my work day twice to go to my "pumping room" that someone else always seemed to be using to make a personal phone call. And I hate washing all those pump parts every day only to have to wash them again the following day. And the day after that.

I really hate pumping, but not as much as I hate the thought of not breastfeeding anymore. That's the thought I just can't quite get a handle on.

So far, all the milestones I've been through with Colin have been exciting. Everything I've witnessed has been a fun adventure, from watching him roll over for the first time to babbling more and more sounds to crawling and now walking. Every time I look at him now, I can't help but see a little boy, and not a baby.

I think I may be holding on to breastfeeding because it's the only thing that makes me feel like I still have a baby. Letting go of that means letting go of his infancy.

And that's not something I'm ready to do. I'm not ready to let go of my baby.

I know he's not going anywhere. He's just growing up. But I don't even have enough time to enjoy one phase before he's off on the next. I couldn't enjoy him falling asleep in my arms for long enough because he started becoming more interested in looking around rather than closing his eyes. I didn't have enough time to watch his butt wiggle from side to side as he crawled because he started to walk. And I don't feel like we've had enough time to bond before he falls asleep at night in the way that only I can bond with him. Just me. Just his mom.

Holding on to this baby stage is all the more important because he may be my only child, as Brent hasn't let go of his "one and done" mantra, no matter what I say or how important it is that I tell him that I want another one. It's something that's too important to me to let go, yet too emotional for me to have a rational conversation around, which frustrates Brent to the point where whenever the subject comes up, it goes nowhere.

So for now, I'm going to keep the morning breastfeeding before I go to work and the evening one before Colin goes to bed. I enjoy it, and I know Colin does too. Maybe it's my way of trying to slow down time. Since history has shown Colin isn't doing that, someone has to try.

Dear Colin... One Minute Into One Year

Dear Colin:

This is a tough one to write. It's not even your actual birthday yet and I've already teared up twice today on the eve of your special day.

The first time was after rolling around on the floor with you doing everything I could think of to keep hearing those loud shrieking giggles of yours - which usually means tickling you on the side of your neck or under your arms or tossing you up in the air.

You settled down a little on my lap after getting preoccupied with a talking toy car and I happened to glance at the clock. It was 4 p.m. on November 29, which is when I felt my first contraction exactly one year ago. So I looked down at you playing with your car and even though we were at your Baba and Mimi Meller's house full of people, I felt like you and I were the only two there as I told you the very abridged story of your birth:

"Exactly one year ago today, I felt something that I now know was you telling me it was time for you to come out. I then started timing those contractions with an app on the phone that you just NEED TO HAVE whenever you see it in my hand. By the time Jersey Shore was over at 11:30, you were really telling me it was time for us to leave. So your daddy and I grabbed our stuff and just before we walked out the garage door, your daddy and I kissed and said the next time we'd be in this house, we'd be here with our baby. That's you.

So then we went to the hospital and your mommy was in SO much pain. But your daddy was fantastic helping mommy through it and your Baba and Mimi Meller, Grandma Ray, and Aunt Brittany met us at the hospital because they just couldn't wait to meet you. 

So at 10:15, the doctor said you were ready to come out. I pushed and pushed for almost two hours because apparently he was wrong about you wanting to come out! But then, at 12:02 p.m., I saw you for the first time. I don't even remember if you cried. What I do remember, though, was awe that the tiny little baby that the doctor was holding was mine.

Before I could hold you, the doctors had to take you to the warmed table in the corner of the room to make sure you were OK. And even though the doctor said you couldn't see more than a few inches in front of your face and they had you facing the corner of the room, you somehow twisted your head around and stared straight at me the ENTIRE time they were measuring and working on you like you knew I was your mom and you belonged across the room with me. And the only moment I wasn't looking right back at you was when your daddy squeezed my hand and I turned my head so I could kiss him and tell him that you were our baby. That you, Colin Allen Meller, were our sweet little boy.

And then the nurse placed you right on my chest and I got to hold you for the first time. I cradled all 7.2 pounds of you in my arms under a warmed blanket and just looked at your adorable face with your just barely there hair and one tiny, tiny fist poking out. It was the best moment of my life. All because of you."

I have been ready to go to bed for awhile now, but when I saw that it was just 15 minutes to midnight central time, I busied myself with playing games on my phone until I heard the clock chime on the hour. Then I walked quietly upstairs to where you were sleeping, stroked your now quite long blond hair, and was happy that I got to be the first to tell you:

"Happy birthday little man."

Love,
Mom

Dear Colin... A Moment Like This

Dear Colin:

We had a moment tonight. It was this brief, yet absolutely perfect moment between mother and son; so powerful that it surprised me how fast the tears came to my eyes.

You were nursing contentedly right before bed, as usual, except tonight every time I glanced down at you, your eyes were wide open and staring straight ahead. You also were unusually still, which usually accompanies the tired blinking you tend to do before nodding off. That’s when I gently pull you up to my shoulder to burp you before lying you down in your crib.

Tonight, though, you never got your usual tired look, even though you were clearly cranky as we were going through your bedtime routine. So when I thought you had nursed enough, I brought you up to my left shoulder and started to pat your back. At this point in the routine, you do one of two things – lay your head on my shoulder when you’re really sleepy, or squirm around until I put you in your crib.

But tonight you did something you’ve never done before. You put one hand on my shoulder to push yourself back to look at me. You then looked at me like you have never seen me almost every single day of your entire life. For a few precious seconds, you were staring at me with such a quiet intensity that I was absolutely paralyzed by your gaze. You then tilted your head to the left and gave this slow, wide grin, without breaking eye contact with me. At that moment, I felt love like I have never felt before. Not even on the day you were born. I didn’t know you then like I know you now. I didn’t know at the time that I had just given birth to something that would bring me joy that I've never known before. It's something that only other parents could understand.

I wished at that moment that I had a camera to capture that look, but it wasn’t until just now that I’m writing about that I realize that I don’t need it. I don’t need a photo to remember that moment because I can never forget that look you gave me.

I could only smile, tear up, and vocalize to you what I hope you will never, ever question:

“I love you more than anything in this world.”

Love,

Mom

Dear Colin... (9 months)

Dear Colin:

I still refer to you as Mr. Crabs, but it’s turned into a term of endearment rather than a descriptor. You, sir, are all smiles. After seeing your two extra-smiley pictures from daycare today, your daddy texted me to tell me that  “no one smiles that much. Not even The Joker.” I replied, “My little boy does.”

Several people from daycare have seen me with you and remarked that you smile all the time. And another person from your daycare recently glanced around to make sure no other parents were in earshot when she told me in hushed tones that she’s been working at the daycare for more than nine years and you are one of the absolute cutest kids she’s been around. I can’t say I disagree.

You’re nine months old today and I am amazed at how fast you pick up new skills. You clap whenever I shout “yay!” and wave to your caregivers at daycare every morning from outside your room. We’re now working on blowing kisses, and you’ve almost got it.

You’ve also almost got crawling, although your chosen modes of transportation are still strictly rolling and army crawling with both arms while pushing off with just your left leg and your belly still stubbornly on the ground. You’re still pretty fast at it when you see something that you really want, which 9 times out of 10 is either any kind of paper or the dog’s water bowl. That is, of course, if there is no food around, even if it’s clearly my food, and not yours.

You eat more than any child your size should probably eat. I actually don’t know how much you can eat because if I didn’t stop giving you food after I felt like you’ve had enough, I’m not sure if you’d stop on your own! I’m not sure an infant should be protesting that they don’t have any more food after a bowl of oatmeal, half a banana, and two highchair tray-fulls of Cheerios and puffs! Whenever I get together with my mom friends one of them always remarks that you’re still eating after all of the other babies have moved on from eating to playing.

And I have you to thank for my mom friends. All of my work friends live in the city, and I had yet to make friends out in the suburbs. But then you came along and I was able to bond with these amazing new moms under the guise of having “play dates” for our kids. None of you ever mind, of course, because you all clearly enjoy putting each others toys in your mouths for the few hours that we get together every month.

You never stop babbling. Most of the time it's a lot of "babas" and "dadas" although I still don't think you know what many words mean. You do know your name, though, and look up and smile whenever you hear me say it.

You're giving me small heart attacks on a regular basis because your main goal in the bathtub now is to pull yourself up to a standing position. The edge of the tub is just too perfect a height for you to not want to grab and pull from a seated position, despite all the colorful toys I surround you with in the tub.

Nursing is much more painful than it used to be because you have had your middle bottom two teeth for a few weeks now, and I just noticed that one more is popping out next to those bottom two as well as your fangs. If those come in fully before your top middle teeth show up, I have to admit I might be a little creeped out - especially since you've been waking up a lot more in the middle of the night - but we'll wait and see about that one.

Although if getting teeth is like anything else when it comes to you, I won't have to wait long. You change daily. I play with you after daycare and before it's time for you to go to sleep and I swear each time you're a little bit more dexterous, a little bit faster at scooting, and a lot more fun.

I love you Mr. Crabs. More every day.

Love,

Mom

Dear Colin... (8 months)

Dear Colin:

I have never heard you laugh like you did one night this week. You’ve just recently started truly laughing at the most random things I do, and I know I can get you to giggle when I say certain words like “boing,” “p.u.,” and “whooph!”

I taught you how to throw a ball in an evening recently, and we sat well past your bedtime tossing it back and forth. Well, I tossed it to you and you would pick it up and throw it every time. But sometimes you let it go too early, and it’d go behind you, or you’d let it go too late, it and it would drop in front of you. Either way, you kept right on going.

I yelled for your daddy to join us, and he kept encouraging you to pick up the ball and throw it with your left hand. His (current) dream for you is to become a left-handed professional baseball pitcher. I can’t really tell whether you’re a righty or a lefty yet because you pick up objects with whatever hand is closest, and eat with both at the same time!

So when I heard you full and outright hysterically belly laughing like I’ve never heard from you before, I just had to see just what was so hilarious. So I peeked into the nursery where you were with your daddy and saw exactly what was so funny. Your daddy had apparently started to undress you for your bath and had gotten as far as taking off your long pants. And what you were doing was throwing the pair of pants at your daddy, and he would throw them right back and grunt like it was a huge effort to throw the pants a few inches away, causing you to laugh like you’ve never laughed with me.

I have to say that I’ve never thought of throwing a pair of pants back and forth in my quest to get you to giggle, so kudos to your daddy for his creativity. He’s not usually a creative guy, so I have to give him props for coming up with something so random that’s apparently the most entertaining thing ever for you.

And now what’s so entertaining to me is that now whenever you throw something, you grunt, imitating your daddy. It’s completely adorable. Just like you.

Love, 

Mom

Dear Colin... (7 months)

Dear Colin:

I cried the entire way to the airport. I was glad it was dark so the cab driver couldn’t see me wiping away my tears as he drove me further and further away from you.

I made him wait for me in our driveway for a brief time because I didn’t want to stop squeezing you and planting kisses on those sweet squishy cheek to put you back in your crib. I knew it’d be the last time I held you for nearly a week, and at the time, it seemed like a week that would last an eternity.

I was heading out on a business trip to Texas for five days – the longest period of time I’ve ever left you. I knew I was leaving you in good hands – we called your Mimi Meller to hang out with you and your daddy while I was gone – but it was still heartbreaking knowing I wouldn’t have you in my arms for nearly a week.

I cried one more time during that business trip – and that was when your daddy texted me that your Mimi Meller had told him that she had heard your first word. Dada. I was heartbroken that I wasn't there to hear it. I tried to console myself by telling myself that it wasn't a real word; it was just a sound and you didn't know what it meant. But it was a milestone that I wasn't there to witness, and it made me upset.

I know I'll be around for many more milestones, both big and small, but that just seemed like one of the biggest ones. You're also just on the verge of thinking about crawling - even though you're an absolute pro at rolling from one place to another - but I stared into your eyes before I left and made you promise that you wouldn't crawl while I was gone. I just didn't think to make you promise you'd stay mute until I got back, too! 

The best thing about going on that business trip, though, was the excitement and anticipation about coming home to see you after such a long time. I made it home before you went to bed, and the smile I got from you when you saw me walk through the door was absolutely priceless.

I swear I came back to a different kid, though - one much bigger and heavier than the one I left. At least it seemed that way. You're growing up so fast, buddy. Slow down and let mommy savor it a little more, would ya?

Love,

Mom

Dear Colin... (4-and-a-half months)

Dear Colin:

Tonight I put you down in your crib and rested my arms and chin on the front of it while I watched you sleep.

One of my favorite parts of the day - and I have many now, all of which have something to do with you - is right after you fall asleep nursing when it's your bedtime. You're exhausted at this point, so you rarely wake up when I pull you up to my shoulder to burp you. After gently patting your back for a few minutes, I then just rest my cheek on the side of your head, rub your back, rock you in the rocking chair in your darkened nursery, and listen to you breathe softly while you snooze.

This is usually when I tear up thinking about just how much I love you, and thank God for blessing me with such a precious little boy.

You're 4-and-a-half months old now, and it's been a wonder to watch you discover the world. Your hands are rarely anywhere but your mouth, and no amount of burp cloths in the world are enough to keep up with your drool. You can grasp toys pretty well for a few seconds, but the challenge is being coordinated enough to get them from your hands to your mouth. You usually end up dropping the toy and settling for your fingers. Your oral fixation is yet another trait you got from your daddy, who's always chewing on something too.

Your eyes now follow me as I walk around a room, and I can always count on hearing the "oh hell no this is SO NOT what I wanted right now" shriek when I go into the closet or another room for a few seconds and thus out of your sight. You don't do well being alone, and are happiest in mommy's arms. You'll settle for daddy's arms occasionally, but sometimes it's only mommy's arms that will calm you down. I have to admit that I kind of love that about you, even though I roll my eyes and claim it's exhausting that you always want to be with me.

I love our bond. I love that even in the middle of a crying fit I can bust out the Shark Kisses Game that will immediately turn your tears into smiles. (To play Shark Kisses, I just hum the "Jaws" theme song while getting closer and closer to you until I attack you with kisses. You LOVE it whenever I start singing "dun dun! dun dun! dun dun dun dun dun dun...")

You've just started rolling over, but are far from being a pro. Right now you're pretty content with being on your stomach or your back as long as I'm interacting with you in some way. Heaven forbid I glance at my phone or want to put you in your highchair so I can make myself some dinner. Neither of those activities involve you, so most of the time you're not having that. Everything I need to do that doesn't involve you usually happen after you're down for the night, which these days is rarely past 8 p.m.

I wish you would stay up until at least 9, but after spending a full day at daycare, you usually start getting crabby around 7. I love all the things you're learning there, but just don't feel like I get enough time with you during the week. I pick you up around 6:15 every day, so by the time we get home, I usually have just one precious hour on the floor with you and your toys before the eye-rubbing signals it's time for our "B" routine: Book, Bath, Boob, Bed. Daddy has the morning routine with you, which means I get the evenings.

After reading a book to you - or half a book, depending on how cranky you are at this point - I can always count on the warm bath to calm you down and make you happy again. You LOVE the bath, and are usually happiest gnawing on the washcloth, kicking at the water, and staring at me sitting next to the tub.

Next up is the lotion and diapering and getting you into your jammies hopefully before you start to cry because you're ready for bed and I'm not yet at the point where I'm settled in the rocking chair to watch as you contentedly nurse yourself to sleep.

So yes, Colin, I often watch you sleep, which might be creepy if I weren't your mommy. But I am, and I thank God every day that he gave me you.

Love,
Mom

Oh How Far I've Come

Colin is nearly 10 weeks old.

Oh how far I’ve come. 

Today at my weekly “Mommy and Me” group, a new mom of a 4-week-old declined my offer to join the rest of us for lunch because she hadn’t brought a bottle for her son because she didn’t anticipate being away from home for more than two hours, and therefore wasn’t prepared. 

That used to be me. 

When my mother-in-law came to stay with us when Colin was two weeks old, she used to question my decision to not bring the diaper bag when we were only going to the grocery store or the doctor’s office. That poor choice left me with an infant with spit-up all over his onesie (not to mention my own shirt), poop on the inside of his pants, and no diaper to put on him after the nurse took it off to weigh him. Now I find myself using the diaper bag as my purse even when I leave Colin home with Brent! 

In the beginning, I used to be clueless about what to do when he cried, and felt helpless that I didn’t know what to do to make him happy. It seems obvious, but I have come to realize and accept that crying is a baby’s only form of communication. They cry for everything from “I’m hungry” to “There’s a cold draft down here so I don’t want to be on my play mat anymore.” While that’s a pretty long list as to why Colin might be crying, I have learned that he really does have certain cries that mean certain things, so I am more confident that I can quickly figure out what he needs. 

His most common cry is the whiny “wah…  wah” cry that simply means “I’m bored/I’m ready to do something else/I want to be held.” This is the one I’ve learned that I can ignore for awhile if I’m busy doing something else because it’s not that serious and he usually eventually finds something to look at that distracts and amuses him. Plus he wants to be held pretty much all the time and sometimes mom needs a break from lifting her more-than-11-pound child! 

What’s more serious is the hungry cry, which is more shrill and not-so-ironically sounds like he’s saying “ma, ma, maaaaaaa!” 

He also has the so-very-helpful “Oh hell no this is so NOT what I need; try again IMMEDIATELY” cry, although I try to stay a few steps ahead of when I anticipate he’ll bust out that one because it’s so horrible to hear. 

But nothing is as horrible as the “That hurts” cry, which I’ve thankfully heard only twice – both times at the doctor’s office when he was getting shots. I couldn’t help crying both times I’ve heard this one, and can only pray to God that I don’t have to hear it other than for good reasons, like his getting vaccinations to keep him healthy. 

Besides being more confident about taking care of his needs, he’s just getting to be more fun in so many ways. He freely gives the most adorable wide toothless smiles when I smile or talk to him, and while he doesn’t yet really interact with any toys, he at least enjoys watching the ones that light up or that I wave in front of him. 

Plus now that I’m a mom I can now have “mom friends” who I’ve met through the previously mentioned “Mommy and Me” group offered by the hospital where I gave birth. Boy did I look forward to that 90-minute-long group every Tuesday morning in the beginning of my maternity leave because it was my only opportunity to share stories, vent, and swap ideas with women who were also navigating their way through early motherhood.  

And while I still look forward to that group, I don’t have to wait for Tuesday to roll around to have something to do with my mom friends because we have figured out other things to do nearly every day of the week. There’s mall walking on Monday or Wednesday afternoon, lunch on Tuesdays after the group, play time at the library on Friday mornings followed by brunch at one of our homes, and Saturday play dates at one of our homes so we can include the moms we’ve met who have gone back to work. 

Some days I feel like I’m more than ready to go back to work, but for now I’m enjoying my mom friends, sleeping in (which Colin allows me to do as long as I bring him in bed with me to cuddle), running errands at crowd-free stores, napping on the couch with Colin at all hours of the day, and all the time in the world to smile at my baby and see him smile back. 

Maternity Leave, Final Week

Before I actually gave birth to my son, I scoffed at those who said I’d want to become a stay-at-home mom. They said it’d be hard for me to go back to work, even though my static retort was always a “yeah right. I need to have my career.” But they insisted I’d come to find out that I wish I could trade my black work pants and meetings for jeans and play dates.

They were right.

Today is my last weekday staying at home with my son. And I’m so upset about it that instead of soaking up every minute of having all the time in the world to snuggle with him, I’m looking at him from across the room and crying over it.

I thought I’d be more comfortable with the transition after taking him to his daycare for a visit yesterday so Brent and I could meet his caregivers, say hi to the kids he’d be playing with every day, and see his classroom. He smiled at everyone we met before falling asleep on my shoulder. I used his burp cloth to muffle my sobs and wipe away my own tears. I was so embarrassed to be listening to one of his caregivers and not be able to get out another question because I couldn’t even hold it together enough to speak.

My husband chuckled at me and kept giving me reassuring squeezes while the caregivers said my reaction was common and that I could call or visit anytime I wanted. That wasn’t enough to make me feel better about the fact that soon I’d be leaving something more important than my own life with strangers. My son, who I’ve never been apart from for more than a few hours since the moment the doctor laid him on my chest.

I’m not sure how I’m going to get through that first hour apart from him, much less than an entire weekday bookended by two 90-minute commutes knowing that I have to do it again the next day, and the next day, and the next day…

This is just so you know why I won’t be wearing any eye makeup on Monday and it’ll likely look like I have pinkeye in both eyes, although I promise I will duck into the bathroom often rather than risk humiliating myself by bawling at work. But I’m going back to work because I honestly love what I do and the people I work with.

I just love my son more.

Maternity Leave, Week 6

Colin is six weeks old today. I made it.

While I was pregnant, I was told by several experienced parents that the first six weeks of an infant’s life are the hardest on the parents, what with all the sleep deprivation, the hormone roller coaster, and mysterious crying fits, not to mention all the uncertainties that come with the territory of a new baby. Since the first few days at home with him, I’ve had that arbitrary milestone in the back of my mind during the horrible low points when he just wouldn’t stop crying—or I wouldn’t stop crying—as the time when it would get better.

And I think I can pinpoint the exact moment it seemed like I was actually getting comfortable in my new role as a parent. I had already strapped Colin in his car seat, which with all the buckles and straps is not an easy feat, when I remembered I needed to get a package ready to drop off at the post office. About that time, Colin started to fuss, which quickly turned into a cry. Since it would not have been practical to unstrap him to hold in one arm while trying to wrangle packing tape with another, I hurried to get the task done so I could tend to his needs. But then something incredible happened.

He stopped crying. Without my intervention.

Before that moment, every time I heard so much as a whine, I was checking his diaper, seeing if he wanted to nurse, making sure he was not too hot or cold, moving him to a different location in case he was bored with his surroundings, or waving a toy in front of his face. It was utterly exhausting.

I was amazed not only that he apparently really can soothe or distract himself, but that he himself had to teach me that he was capable of it. Since that moment, I check on him whenever he starts to fuss in earnest in case it’s because he’s slid too far down in his still too-big swing or his bib has flipped up in his face and he can’t figure out how to get it down. But I don’t jump up at every baby noise or the start of every crying fit, and many times can finish what I’m doing and go on to the next because he really is OK without me for a bit.

This means freedom. That’s what it feels like even though in reality it is just a little slice of freedom. It’s the freedom to do small projects around the house like set up the bike trainer, figure out how to set up and get Netflix on our new Blu-ray player, and upload the latest batch of adorable baby photos to my Flickr account.

Along with this newfound freedom, I love the fact that I am starting to see glimmers of discovery in Colin. He’s just starting to notice the small animals dangling above his head when he’s on his play mat and recognize me by sight and not just by smell or voice. But my favorite discovery as of late is that he’s starting to pay attention to music and even attempts to “sing” (meaning he’s more vocal whenever music is playing). I can even settle him down sometimes just by hitting the Music icon on my iPhone and clicking “Shuffle” because he needs to quiet down to hear the song.

Along those lines, my new favorite activity is cooking in the kitchen because he’s entertained for more than an hour with my iPhone playing music on the blanket he’s lying on within view of me singing into a wooden spoon and dancing to the beat. Well, he’s either entertained or paying extra attention to my ridiculous attempt at trying to dance so he can accurately recall it later to a therapist when he’s listing ways that I embarrassed him during his childhood.

Now that I’ve reached this six-week milestone, I feel like I’m finally not waiting for it to get better.

It already is.